


Sweeter for the Wait

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fraser used to go for days without even thinking about coming, but now that he's in a relationship..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweeter for the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the prompt posted by helens78 on the duesouth_kink meme on Dreamwidth.

He had begun to think that the part of his brain, heart, whatever, that part that had during his teen years thought of nothing but sex, that had kept up a constant drumbeat of _want want want_ , turned every pretty girl and boy he saw into a _need_ \--almost always unmet, but a need nonetheless--had simply atrophied. The disaster of Victoria, his unmooring when Ray Vecchio disappeared from his life, the subsequent months of...depression, he could admit that now; all had combined to make sex slip so far down the list of important things that it was scarcely even noticeable.

He did wake up with the occasional hard-on, and dealt with it in a perfunctory manner; it was more like working out a muscle cramp than anything else.

Yes, admittedly, as the depression slowly lifted, he found himself thinking of Ray Kowalski in a way that was--rather more a romantic partnership than a working one. Yes, he had fantasies of sleeping beside Ray at night, making him feel that he had a home again, making him _happy_. He wasn't sure what to call all these thoughts ("mooning," his father supplied helpfully) but even these...cloud castles, pipe dreams, tended only the slightest bit toward the pornographic. Another reason to add to the list of why he should never _tell_ Ray. "I'm in love with you, Ray. In the unlikely event that you would like to do anything about this, it will almost certainly wreck our working relationship, make us pariahs in our profession, and oh, by the way, I have almost no sex drive. Won't this be fun for you?"

So when Ray turns toward him one evening, apropos of nothing--they're watching a hockey game! there's an advertisement for Red Lobster on!--and says simply, "You got a thing for me, huh?" he can only nod, because it's impossible to deny. But then he opens his mouth to explain that certainly Ray should not feel guilty that he doesn't reciprocate, and even if he does there are a million reasons why it's a very bad--and then his mouth is full of Ray's tongue, and Ray's on him and around him, pinning him on the loveseat and wrapping arms around Fraser and kissing him and kissing him.

"I--what--" Fraser says, and Ray simply kisses him harder, grinds his hips down into Fraser's roughly, and ah, yes, things are awakening down there, Fraser's cock is stirring and this is--very different, Ray's hands are digging into his back bruisingly hard, Fraser's never--not like this, with Ray pushing him down into the cushions, sitting up astride Fraser's hips to yank his own shirt off.

Fraser can't prevent himself from rocking his hips up against Ray's hot weight, stirring has turned alarmingly fast into throbbing, but manages to gasp out, "This is a bad idea, we--"

"Shut up, Fraser," Ray says. He reaches for Fraser's shirt, tugs at it, and Fraser, baffled at his own cooperation, stretches his arms up above his head so Ray can pull it off. It doesn't come all the way off, though; Ray gets it pulled up to Fraser's wrists and then twists so Fraser's hands are tangled in it, pins the snarl of shirt with one hand to the cushions and leans down in Fraser's face to say, "When you're talking, you're thinking. Stop thinking. Shut _up_."

And not thinking sounds glorious, sounds _perfect_ , and Fraser opens his mouth to say _yes_ , but no, no, he is not talking, he is shutting up for Ray, so he just nods, nods hard, and Ray gives him a beautiful smile, keeps pinning his wrists and rocking his hips down against Fraser's and leans to take Fraser's nipple in his mouth, sucks and nudges at it with his tongue and Fraser groans and comes all over himself.

As soon as the rush of that fades it's replaced with a chill of shame, and Fraser closes his eyes, murmurs "I'm sorry, that was--I'm not usually so quick, I--"

"Don't apologize, I got better things you can do with your mouth," Ray says, and shoves at him, and suddenly Fraser is off the loveseat, landing on his knees on the floor, and Ray has a hand in his hair and is unzipping his own pants, and god, _god_ , every blowjob Fraser's been a party to in his life has been careful and gentle and _sweet_ , and now Ray is shoving his cock up into Fraser's mouth before Fraser's even had a chance to look at it, and his hand in Fraser's hair is hurting, and the crotch of Fraser's jeans is wet and getting cold and starting to chafe every time he rocks his hips but he can't stop rocking his hips because this is good, this is so good.

Ray arches and groans and comes, and, startled by the lack of warning, Fraser chokes a little and has a coughing fit. He hopes that doesn't come across as a rejection of any sort, but Ray certainly doesn't seem concerned; he zips up, stretches back out on the loveseat, and tugs at Fraser's hair again, this time pulling his head closer for more kisses.

Finally Ray lets go of him, and Fraser sits back on his knees---and oh, these jeans are going to _have_ to go, and soon--and says, "That was...lovely, Ray."

"Lovely?" Ray says, raising his eyebrows, and Fraser flushes and says, "Not exactly the right term, I suppose. But it was--I was--I liked it very much."

"Yeah, me too," Ray said, and then looks down at Fraser's crotch and wrinkles his nose. "That's gotta feel awful."

"It really, _really_ does," Fraser says, with some heat, and Ray laughs and gets up, saying, "Sweatpants?"

"Heaven," Fraser says.

It's less heavenly having to leave after he's changed clothes, but he needs to deal with Dief and open the consulate in the morning, and he hesitates to push--whatever this is, by acting as if he is entitled to stay, anyway.

He's quite startled in the morning to wake up to a raging hard-on, as unlike the vaguely nagging ones he's used to getting on occasion as it is possible to be. His head's full of last night, of the feel of Ray's hands in his hair, the taste of Ray's cock in his mouth (and oh he wants to see it, wants to study it and tease it and take his time with it) and he groans and curls into himself like he's hurt, like he's _wounded_ , curls up around his aching cock and strips it roughly and moans into his pillow and comes on his sheets.

He makes it through the rest of the day in a daze, and finds himself once again on Ray's doorstep that night. Uninvited; they haven't spoken all day, as Fraser actually had plenty to do at the consulate for once. Uninvited, and apparently shameless, wanting _more_ , and he stands on Ray's welcome mat knocking and telling himself that this is ridiculous, certainly Ray has come to his senses by now, _someone_ has to and Fraser obviously isn't.

Ray flings open the door and smiles, a rather smug smile, says, "Great," grabs Fraser by the shirtfront and hauls him in.

"We should probably talk," Fraser gasps after long minutes of kissing shoved up against the wall.

"Oh _fuck_ no," Ray says, and starts unbuttoning his pants, and Fraser is going to, has every intention of insisting on a clear and calm discussion of why this is a terrible idea, why he shouldn't have come back, owes this discussion to Ray really. And instead he finds himself on his knees again, Ray's cock on his tongue again, but at least this time he's gotten a chance to look a little, to linger a little, and he won't say it aloud again because Ray would make fun, but once more all he can think is, "Lovely."

He manages not to come in his pants this time, and once Ray is done he hauls Fraser up, unbuttons his jeans and wraps a hand around Fraser's cock, and Fraser simply loses his mind, behaves like a crazy person, clutching his hand in Ray's shirt and slamming his cock into Ray's hand, hanging on like Ray might _run_ if he lets go, whimpering and moaning and gasping, "Christ, _Christ_ " into Ray's ear.

When he comes Ray leans into him, keeping him from just sliding down the wall, doubtless getting _covered_ with come into the bargain. My god, they hadn't even made it a foot away from the door.

"You gotta deal with Dief?" Ray says softly into his ear, pressed up against him.

Fraser takes a deep breath and said, "No, I..."

This is terrifying.

"I took the liberty," he presses on, "of asking Francesca to take him for the night. That--that doesn't mean I _need_ to stay, of course, I just--in case--took the liberty," he ends feebly.

"You take all the liberties you want, Frase," Ray says, sliding Fraser's pants further down his legs. "I can guarantee you _I'm_ gonna take _more_ ," and then, dear god, he's sliding his fingers into the back of Fraser's boxers, tracing fingertips gently and ticklishly along the curve of Fraser's ass.

"How soon you gonna be up for anything?" Ray says.

"I don't know," Fraser says, quite honestly. "I haven't had the chance to test my recovery period in some time."

"We're gonna test it tonight, buddy," Ray says.

It proves satisfactory.

Given that, after said test, he has now come four times in two days--more than in the previous _month_ , probably, and god knows with more enthusiasm--Fraser is unsurprised to wake in Ray's bed in the morning _sated_ , unlike the day before.

He's astonished, however, to find himself throbbing again at lunch. He has a quick, shamed session in the bathroom of the consulate, unable to quite believe he's doing this but also unable to bear the idea of working the whole afternoon at his desk in his current state, aching and distracted, his head full of nothing but Ray Ray " _Ray_ " he gasps, coming desperately, fast and hard.

He cleans himself up a bit, knowing it's inadequate, that his face is red and his hair is sweaty. He sits fully clothed on the toilet for a minute, just to calm down, aware that he makes a ridiculous picture; but he has to start breathing normally, lose some of the flush, before he can possibly present himself to Inspector Thatcher, to Turnbull, to the _public_ for god's sake. And what on earth is _happening_ here, anyway? Apparently, paradoxically, satisfaction is breeding need, repletion spiraling directly into desire. Whatever it is that was asleep, Ray has woken it _up_ , and it's _hungry_.

The next few weeks are a blur, seeming to consist of nothing except Ray's skin under Fraser's fingers and tongue, Ray's fingers and tongue everywhere on and over and _in_ Fraser. Nothing seems clear except the startling fact that the more Ray takes charge, the more Ray tells him what to do and moves Fraser where he wants him, holds him down and, and ties him _up,_ the better it is, the more Fraser relaxes into it, the more his to-do list fades out of his head along with the even longer list of why this is a bad idea, why it could never work out for either of them.

Those only-very-slightly pornographic fantasies he'd had--the sex was slow, and gentle, and _affectionate_. But in real life, in Ray's real arms—there's affection there, he can tell, but it's in Ray's body pinning him down to the bed, hot and eager, in Ray's voice snarling at him--snarling!--to bend over the back of the couch, in Ray's hand covering his mouth, fantastic but unnecessary when all he was going to say anyway was _yes_.

Somewhere in those wonderful bewildering weeks, he apparently moves in with Ray. He can't recall, later, there being a discussion or a decision. But first some of his clothes are there, and then all of them, and then the few other things he owns seem to...drift in, one by one, and then Dief begins to respond quite sarcastically to suggestions of going back to the Consulate to sleep, and...yes. Fraser lives here now.

He is living with Ray, and Ray is--Ray is his partner on the job, even steven, and that's good. And in the evenings, when they go out, Ray is usually magnanimously willing to go along with whatever Fraser wants, cocking an amused eyebrow when what Fraser wants involves the library or a string quartet or, as Ray puts it, "any movie with subtitles that _doesn't_ also have kung-fu," and that's good too. And the moment they walk through the door of--Ray's? their?—apartment in the evenings, Ray is suddenly entirely in charge, it's all about what Ray wants, which turns out, to Fraser's astonishment, to be exactly how Fraser wants it.

He stirs awake one morning, still a bit surprised not to be on his narrow cot, to find Ray smiling into his face. He smiles back, relaxed, and still half-asleep, murmurs, "I thought it was _broken_."

"Thought what was?" Ray says, running a hand over Fraser's ribs, lingering over the occasional fingerprint bruise.

"My _dick_ ," Fraser says, and laughs. "Well, no, not really. My libido, I suppose. But it had just...gone dormant, apparently."

"Hibernating," Ray says. "Like a bear." He traces a finger down Fraser's sternum, smiles and says, "Grrar."

"Those first few days," Fraser says, "I was so crazy with it, I couldn't, even all that we were doing wasn't enough, I was--I jerked off at the _consulate_. A lot."

And he thinks Ray will find that funny.

Instead Ray goes expressionless, says, "You what?"

"I, ah, pleasured myself," Fraser says; he is suddenly, ridiculously, embarrassed. Why this should abruptly seem shameful when talking to Ray of all people, Ray with whom he's done so much, is bewildering. "At the consulate."

"After we got together?" Ray says, still expressionless. "How many times?"

"Ah," Fraser says. "Three or four times the first week? I had...come to _life_ , it seemed, and I suppose I was overcompensating for all those months when I couldn't even bring myself to _want_ anything. After that--we were so, er, active--" and he's relieved to see Ray crack a smile at that--"I seem to have...caught up, I suppose. Although there was that one time when you were gone overnight on the Karmann stakeout, and you'd been a _tease_ that morning..."

Ray grins at him again, then suddenly his grin goes predatory and he reaches out, palms Fraser's dick through the longjohns, grabs it hard. "You don't get to do that," he says.

"Do what?" Fraser says, because it's very, very difficult to think with Ray's hand there.

"Jack off," Ray says. "Not unless I tell you to," and dear God, the idea of Ray _telling_ him to is excruciatingly arousing; Fraser can feel himself swelling under Ray's fingers.

"Cause this is _mine_ ," Ray says, starting to rub, and Fraser moans and rocks his hips up into the friction before what Ray is actually _saying_ sinks in, and that--that's simply, patently ridiculous.

Fraser forces his eyes open, always difficult when Ray is distracting, arousing him like this, and manages to say, "Ray, that's--certainly I'm not sharing it with anyone _else_ , I don't _want_ to, but to say _I_ can't is--"

"You can't," Ray interrupts, and he's smiling fiercely and tilting his head a little and--oh. That's the look he has when he's offering up something new, holding up a length of rope or a blindfold, that look that says _play with me, I want to play, I promise you'll like it_.

"Oh. Ah. All right," Fraser says. "I apologize. For my...misbehavior."

Ray laughs and says, "Weak-ass apology, Fraser," but he's moving his hand faster, squeezing harder, and soon Fraser finds himself clutching the sheets in his hands and arching off the bed and babbling "Sorry sorry I'm sorry Ray" with perfect sincerity as he comes.

He's coming back down, panting and hot and flushed all over, when Ray slides his hand up the soaked long johns, slides his fingers in between buttons and just pets Fraser's stomach gently, and says, "Three days sounds about right."

"Mmmmmmm?"

"Three days without coming. Teach you a lesson," Ray says, and leans over to nuzzle into Fraser's neck.

"Sure," Fraser says. Three days is nothing; he's gone weeks before, on occasion.

He's surprised--and a little smug--when he walks in the door that night and Ray almost immediately jumps him, is on him and kissing him hard. _Couldn't even wait **one** day_ , Fraser thinks, and kisses back, goes happily to his knees when Ray pushes down on his shoulders. He can't resist, though, saying, "I thought it was going to be three days," smiling as he takes down Ray's zipper.

"Didn't say anything about three days for _me_ ," Ray says, and oh, _oh_ , Fraser still isn't--he's not going to get to--but he's still getting _Ray_ off and, oh. This is going to be more difficult than he thought.

He does his best, though, sucks hard and fast the way Ray likes, going down as far as he can--it's getting to be further all the time.

Ray comes, groaning, and then simply zips himself up, smiles down at Fraser and runs a hand roughly through his hair. "C'mon, I got dinner going," he says, turns and walks off into the kitchen.

Fraser sways on his knees for a moment, catching his breath, working very hard to ignore his own hard-on; it will fade, it will fade, as long as he doesn't think about what just happened, about Ray's cock in his mouth and Ray's hand in his hair.

It is very difficult indeed not to think about what just happened.

Fraser breathes, slowly and calmly, and then gets up off his knees and heads for the kitchen.

The rest of the evening is pleasant and uneventful, but Fraser lies awake for a long time after Ray's fallen asleep with one warm arm thrown across his stomach.

The next morning Fraser wakes up hard, and he's snaked a hand into his long johns before he's even fully conscious.

He's genuinely startled for a moment when Ray stirs, looks at him and then grabs his wrist.

"Nuh-uh," Ray says.

"What? Oh. Sorry. Forgot."

"Convenient," Ray says, grinning, moves Fraser's hand away and substitutes his own.

Ah, he's getting an early reprieve, then, excellent.

But Ray doesn't do any serious squeezing or rubbing, just drifts his fingertips softly along Fraser's erection for a moment, then leans in and kisses him lightly in front of his ear, a favorite spot.

"Bad guys a-waitin', Frase," he says, and springs out of bed.

Apparently torturing Fraser makes Ray cheerful in the mornings. Ray is _never_ cheerful in the mornings. It is possible that Fraser is going to kill him before the three days are up.

Work is abysmal. It's a paperwork-heavy day, and Fraser's intellectual process through the whole day can be summed up by "Hmmmm, after I have written 'Saskatchewan' fifteen times on one form it begins to look like it cannot possibly be a real word," and "Dear god, my cock aches."

As it nears closing time he finds himself, in a bout of cowardice, not really wanting to go home, sure that Ray will simply make it worse; yet at the same time the thought of being away from Ray in this state is torture in itself.

And indeed, the walk home is unpleasant; his nerves are jangled by the scents of everyone he passes on the sidewalk, because everyone smells _wrong_ , everyone smells like _not Ray_.

Entering the apartment is a relief, no one else to deal with, and Ray looks up from a stack of paperwork--ah, Welsh finally snapped and sent the backlog home with him. Ray looks miserable and tense. He's been wearing his glasses quite often lately (perhaps he's figured out Fraser likes them) but they're dangling from his jaw now, shoved out of the way for close-up work.

"Anything I can help with?" Fraser says.

"Jesus, yes. Get some food first though. I brought Thai home, there's the stuff you like with the tofu, which as far as I'm concerned you could just stir-fry a dish sponge."

Fraser smiles at him and has some dinner and settles in for an evening of helping Ray interpret his own crabbed handwriting.

He thinks he's gotten off easy ( _ha!_ ) but when they're climbing into bed that night Ray shakes his head when Fraser gets out the long johns. "Naked," he says, and Fraser nods and complies. But it's been a long difficult day, and, hoping that Ray won't make the constant wearying wanting _worse_ , Fraser faces away from him, stays close to the edge of the bed. Ray, undeterred, scoots over close, and Fraser shivers when he feels Ray's breath against the back of his neck, cannot hold back a pathetic whimper when he hears the unmistakable rhythmic noise of Ray jerking himself off.

Ray's breath is coming hard and ragged against Fraser's skin, and the bed is moving a little, and Ray's starting to moan, that noise he makes when he's _so close_ , when Fraser's got his mouth on Ray, when Fraser's spread open for Ray, when Fraser's buried in Ray, and Fraser's hands are in fists, _not touching himself not_ , and he wonders if he would die of embarrassment if he actually cried.

There's sudden hot wet against the curve of Fraser's lower back, and he gasps and shifts away; his nerves are so on edge that it almost feels like a scald.

"Hey, hey," Ray says softly, throws an arm over him and hauls him backward until Ray's spooned up sticky against his back. Ray flattens his palm warm and firm against Fraser's stomach and whispers, "You gonna make it, buddy? You okay?"

Fraser's aching cock twitches at the same time his mood leaps, because he is being given an _out_ , here, he can say "I'm dying for it, Ray, I'm not okay, please let me come," and Ray _will_ , and he opens his mouth and says, "I'm perfectly fine," because--because he is a proud and _stupid_ man, he thinks furiously at himself.

Ray laughs into the back of his hair and says, "You are so full of shit, Fraser."

The hand against Fraser's stomach starts moving, slowly and soothingly, and Fraser tries to focus on the soothing, calming aspects of it, the fact that Ray is planting small soft kisses on his shoulders, and not on the fact that he wishes desperately that Ray would move his hand down a few inches.

"It's gonna be so good," Ray says. "Worth it," and he keeps _petting_ , slow strokes over Fraser's stomach, and Fraser takes shuddering breaths and slowly, slowly relaxes, gradually comes down off the agonized peak of arousal and eventually drifts off to sleep, Ray's hand still gently moving.

The next day Fraser is simply dazed, sleepwalking through work. He actually replies to Inspector Thatcher with "Huh?" at one point, and she blinks at him, makes a disgusted face and waves him back toward his desk with a "Never mind, I'll ask Turnbull to deal with it," Were he able to spare brain cells for anything but longing for the evening right now, he would probably be deeply ashamed.

He walks back to their apartment building and finds that he now gets a Pavlovian hard-on when he starts up the stairs. Dear lord. But it's the third night, finally, and his hands are shaking when he opens the door.

Ray isn't home yet, and there's a message on the machine that he's wrapping up the paperwork for a case, will get back as soon as he can.

Fraser sits down on the loveseat, tries to get comfortable, can't. Shifts his hips, which somehow turns into rocking his hips up off the cushion with a moan. Not helpful. He desperately clicks the television on, but every station seems to be showing advertisements and every advertisement is nothing but glossy-lipped women making pouty faces, and attractive men stroking the wet necks of their beer bottles.

Finally he shakes himself, tells himself sternly to be useful, gets off the couch and starts up some pasta and a salad.

Ray shows up within an hour, though it seems much longer; Fraser keeps watching the clock and being astonished by its slow motion. Ray walks into the kitchen, stirs the bubbling tomato sauce, and says, "God, I love you, I'm _starving_ , let me grab a shower and I will be _so_ ready to eat," and disappears down the hall.

Fraser stands in the kitchen and just shares a smile with Dief for a while. Ray has not yet said "I love you" in a romance-movie, staring-into-each-other's-eyes moment (and nor has Fraser) but he throws it out casually all the time, in moments of practical appreciation, without seeming to even notice he's doing it.

Ray comes back in sweatpants and a tee, and tucks happily into his spaghetti. Fraser tangles ankles with him under the table, and Ray grins at him with spaghetti sauce on his chin, which makes him look approximately twelve; Fraser can't help laughing at him.

They have a quiet evening of television, and Fraser is biting his lip through most of it _not_ suggesting that they head for bed _now_ or begin activities on the couch, because this is nearly over and he's going to hang on to at least a shred of dignity.

Finally, finally, Ray yawns showily, and Fraser hastily, showily, yawns back. Ray snorts at him but stands up and heads for the bedroom, and Fraser is hit by a wave of anticipation and lust so strong he has difficulty standing himself.

He makes it back to the bedroom, however, and strips quickly, trying to keep his breathing under control. He slides into bed beside Ray and Ray wraps his arms around him, pulls him close and kisses him thoroughly, and Fraser moans and presses even closer, wanting so much that the need feels like a stinging all over his skin.

Ray smiles against Fraser's mouth and kisses him some more, trails little bites along his jaw and neck and Fraser shivers in his arms and says, "Yes, yes."

Ray moves his mouth down, kissing along Fraser's chest and then nuzzling at his nipples, and Fraser breathes carefully and tries not to come _yet_ , tries to have at least a _little_ self-control here. He wonders hazily if perhaps he is supposed to wait for Ray to _say_ he can come, and wonders if he can bring himself to ask; the idea sounds embarrassing and, and _humiliating_ and still somehow incredibly arousing, and he opens his mouth, is almost sure he can manage to say, "Ray, do I have to wait for permission?" without combusting from lust and shame, and then he suddenly has a horrible, horrible thought.

Perhaps Ray didn't mean tonight. Perhaps Ray meant three _full_ days. Which would be tomorrow morning.

Fraser groans aloud and Ray lifts his head from where he's been sucking lazily at a nipple, says "Mmmm?"

"Nothing," Fraser says. "Carry on." Ray gives him a suspicious look--what he would probably term a "hairy eyeball"--for a moment, then shrugs and leans back down to nibble ticklishly at Fraser's ribs.

Fraser tries to think--difficult enough with Ray's weight pressed along his thigh, and Ray's tongue wandering slowly toward his navel. Almost impossible now because mixed with his arousal is the near-panic of the idea that he's _still_ not allowed to come, and worse yet that he doesn't _know_ , can't tell whether to try desperately to tamp down on his spiraling arousal or just let it sweep through him like he so wants to. And he can't ask, he _can't_ , because it's entirely plausible that if Ray is _planning_ to let him come tonight and Fraser asks if it was supposed to be in the morning Ray will say, "You know, Frase, that sounds like a good idea, three days really would be in the morning, wouldn't it? Good point," and smile at him and _revise the plan_.

Ray slides yet further down, and now he's breathing on Fraser's cock, and Fraser whimpers but surely, surely Ray wouldn't do this if he weren't going to let, if he didn't plan--and then Ray takes Fraser's hand in his, what is he doing, he's pulling Fraser's own hand to his cock and wrapping it gently around the head.

And then he says "Don't squeeze, don't move," and runs his lips gently down the rest of Fraser's cock, stops to nuzzle at his balls, licks and sucks at them.

"Oh _god_ ," Fraser whispers, and he's shuddering all over, shaking, and this cannot possibly get any worse, but then it does, because Ray licks back up his length and then starts sucking and nibbling at Fraser's fingers where they're curved loosely around the head.

Fraser gasps and moves his hand out of the way, can't help it, wants so much to have Ray's tongue gliding _right there_ , Ray's hot hot mouth sealed around him tugging at him and sliding down.

But the second he moves Ray pulls away, stops touching him at all, sits up inches from him on the bed and glares at him. "I said don't move. You get deaf when you're horny?" he says.

"I--I--yes," Fraser says. Ray laughs and Fraser puts his hand back where it was, gasping at the touch of his own warm palm; he nearly comes that second but bites his lower lip until it hurts and manages to head it off.

"Good _boy_ ," Ray says, and Fraser wrestles together enough brain cells to give Ray what he thinks is a fairly hairy eyeball, because, really, _no._

"Ha, okay, no," Ray says, and leans down again, dips his head again, starts, oh god, licking at Fraser's fingers again, but this time he curves his own hand around the lower part of Fraser's cock, starts jacking him slowly while he licks, oh _god_.

And then he starts _talking_ and Fraser's hips jerk up off the bed and he can feel his eyes rolling back in his head; Ray's talking in that low soft voice he only uses when he wants to make Fraser _nuts_. It's hardly necessary now, it's _redundant_ , but he's using it, saying, "I could make you come so hard right now, huh? So fast, just one good wet suck and you'd be gone, if your hand weren't in the way," as if that had been _Fraser's_ goddamn _idea_ , and Fraser has a lot to say about the incredible unfairness of that, a lengthy and logical but profanity-laced diatribe to make about that, but it comes out as something like, "Ngggggrrrrrrrrrgh."

Ray grins at him, grips his wrist and gently pulls Fraser's hand away and Fraser shudders with hope, but Ray just takes his fingers in his mouth, sucks at them slowly.

" _Fuck_ ," Fraser moans desperately, and then, god _yes_ , Ray's sliding his tongue off fingertips, moving slowly, _finally_ toward Fraser's cock.

But _wait_ , Fraser's still not sure if he's--if he's allowed--if he's supposed--and suddenly the idea of disappointing Ray, of _failing_ at this, is terrible, is far worse than the absolutely hideous idea of not getting to come, and Fraser is, good god, shoving Ray _away_ , unbelievable, and saying "No."

Ray blinks at him, looking stunned, and Fraser gasps out, "No, don't, I can't, if your mouth, if I'm in your mouth I can't keep from, _don't_ , please."

"You...what?" Ray says. " _Don't_? Seriously?"

"Not unless, unless it's okay for me to come, did you mean tonight, because that's not really three days, oh god I hope you did but _don't_ , if it's not okay, if you meant the morning, please don't, I can't help it, Ray, I'll come if you do, _don't_."

Ray blinks at him for a moment, then his expression becomes some combination Fraser's never seen on him...surprise and affection, yes, but also something like...awe? "Jesus, Fraser," he says. "Jesus. Come on, come, I want you to come, it's okay." He lowers his head, wraps his warm lips around the tip of Fraser's cock and sucks, slides down a little and sucks harder.

Fraser sucks in a breath and hits the edge, but he just _hits_ it--doesn't break through, just _hangs_ there, _stuck_ , so aroused his skin hurts and his hips are jerking up over and over and god, god, he's never wanted needed to come more in his _life_ , what, why--

Ray stops what he's doing, _no_ , and gives Fraser a worried look, but then his face changes, goes feral and he _snarls_ out, "I said _come_ , _now_ , goddamnit."

He dips his head again but his mouth barely touches Fraser before Fraser's coming, so hard, Ray takes him in while he's still coming and swallows around him and Fraser's shoving up into his mouth hard, can't help it, can't control himself, isn't in control of anything here. Fraser's legs are shaking and his hands are spasming in the sheets and he's making terrible noises, he sounds like he's _dying_ and he can't _stop_.

It seems like it takes _years_ , like there are uncountable decades of nothing but--pleasure doesn't seem like enough of a word. He can't think of enough of a word. He thumps his head back onto the pillow, breathes like a bellows. There are aftershocks, little tremors that work their way down his arms and legs. He wonders vaguely if his hair's gone grey.

The shudders stop, finally, and his breathing slows, and Ray crawls up the bed and throws an arm over his chest, a leg over his thigh--and, oh, Ray's still hard, nudging against his hip. Fraser had utterly lost track of the fact that Ray hadn't come; he doesn't remember ever doing that before.

He tries to offer his assistance, but neither his speech nor his coordination has quite recovered; he mumbles something like, "Gedjyuwoff?" and flails a hand uselessly in the general area of Ray's groin.

Ray actually laughs at him and says, "Benton-buddy, you are _pathetic_."

"Zhyor _fault_ ," Fraser says. He's trying for huffy, but doesn't have the energy for it yet.

"You just stay right where you are, looking just like that," Ray says, and crouches over him. "God, you look--you're all red and your hair's fucked up and your _face_ \--you look _high_ , Fraser," and he's got a hand on himself now, is jacking hard and fast, and it's not long before he's coming on Fraser's stomach and slumping back down onto him, then grabbing and rolling so that Fraser's halfway on top of _him_ instead, tight in his arms.

"That was pretty fucking intense," Ray says. "I mean, the waiting part. I mean, hell yes, the not-waiting part too. All of it. Intense."

"Yes."

"The waiting part was killing me."

" _You_?"

"You got no idea, Frase. Second we started putting it off, all I could think about was how fucking pretty you look when you come."

Fraser's throat goes hot and tight but he manages to say, "Pish," and Ray says, "Fraser, you do not get to lie here stuck to me with sperm and talk like Queen Victoria. But, yeah, just about drove me crazy."

"Me too."

"Yeah, I _got_ that," Ray says, raising a hand to stroke through Fraser's hair. "So. You wanna do that again sometime?"

" _God_ , yes," Fraser says.

Ray laughs and says, "Me, too. Definitely." The fingers in Fraser's hair start pulling a little, deliciously, and Ray says, "What you gonna do to deserve _that_ kind of punishment?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something," Fraser says. "I'm capable of immense misbehavior," and Ray laughs and says, "Absolutely," and tugs him up for a kiss

 

\---end---

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Be Good for You, Be Good to Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/437897) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)
  * [Sweeter for the Wait (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086953) by [seramirez (boxofdelights)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofdelights/pseuds/seramirez)
  * [Sweeter for the Wait [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772185) by [DesireeArmfeldtPodfic (DesireeArmfeldt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldtPodfic)




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